


Billy, Don't Be A Hero

by veronamay



Category: Toy Soldiers (1991)
Genre: Hurt/No Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Non-Linear Narrative, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-02
Updated: 2002-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy Tepper is a smartass. Not the best characteristic to have when your school is being held hostage at gunpoint by a gang of crooks. Especially when you're pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Billy, Don't Be A Hero

Billy huddled in his corner of the room and watched the others sleep. He'd stopped crying a while back, and now his face was itchy, his throat raw and dry. He wanted to go and clean up, but the thought of facing the guard in the hallway was more than he could handle right now. So he sat there on the floor, ignored the pain in his back, and tried not to think about anything.

For a guy who was supposedly so good at it, not thinking was really fucking hard. Every time he looked around the room Billy was reminded of Joey. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Cala's face.

Only three days ago the dean had been kicking his ass for selling vodka on school grounds. It felt like years. Billy couldn't even remember why he'd done it anymore.

_"You really have no sense of discipline, do you?"_

He flinched in pain, both remembered and immediate, and Cala's face swam in front of his eyes again. Billy breathed a curse and hugged his knees close to his chest, putting his head down and squeezing his eyes so tightly shut that he saw stars.

He'd promised the dean and the FBI he could get everyone to safety. He had to make a plan, hold up his end like he'd said he could ... but he couldn't focus. Cala's face disappeared, replaced by Joey's, and Billy heard him asking, _"What am I up for tonight?"_

He put his hand to his mouth and bit down hard to keep from screaming. Joey was gone. Fucking gone, just like that. The principal said he'd been free to go and he'd fucked it up. What a massive cosmic fucking joke. Billy ignored the fresh tears running down his cheeks.

But he knew why. Joey wouldn't leave without the rest of them. Billy knew he'd have done the same thing. It didn't stop him wanting to scream, though. What good was nobility if it got you fucking killed?

Billy felt very young for the first time in years. Young and scared. _"Yes, I'm afraid,"_ he'd said to Cala, and it was true. He felt like any plan he made to catch the fuckers was only pissing into the wind. Cala was too organised, too ruthless. He didn't have any scruples left, if he'd ever had them to begin with. Billy knew he wasn't bluffing about the explosives. Cala was capable of anything.

_"I'm sorry ... I was in the shower, I didn't hear the bell ring--"_

_"He's wet."_

_"So he is."_ Cala’s hand caressing his wet head and neck.

 _"I'm sorry--"_ He was worried, but not panicking yet. They believed him.

_"Come with me."_

Billy never wanted to go to the principal's office again.

He'd been too scared not to go where he was led, too scared to do anything when Cala forced him down over the desk and whipped him with a steel pointer. That was okay. Billy knew it would’ve been stupid to fight back. But he couldn’t reconcile the rest of it. He couldn’t even think about it. He just curled up even more tightly into the corner and gasped for breath.

* * *

  
The whipping didn’t really go on for all that long – it just felt like it. The pain was bad enough to make him cry out, but he’d be damned if he’d let Cala fuck with his head. It was just pain; he could ignore it. He could stay inside his head and be safe, where Cala couldn’t touch him.

Eventually it stopped. For long moments the only sound in the room was their labouring breaths. Billy distantly noticed that they were breathing in sync, as though they were the same person, or if they were sharing one set of lungs. The image struck him as funny and he tried to laugh. Pain lashed at him from nape to buttocks and quickly discouraged the idea.

Cala put the makeshift crop down and moved around the desk, keeping one hand on the back of Billy’s neck. Billy kept his eyes shut and concentrated on breathing as evenly as he could. In … out … hold … in … out. He was okay. He wasn’t going to die, not today, and not because of this greasy terrorist wannabe. No _fucking_ way.

His momentary reprieve was shattered by the movement of Cala’s hand. Slowly, softly, as light as a feather it moved over his skin, avoiding the welts and cuts on his back, gently drifting down to rest on his left hip. Billy realised Cala was standing directly behind him; he nearly bolted upright as he felt his legs being nudged apart. _Just keep breathing,_ he thought, then went entirely still as Cala moved to stand between his thighs.

Oh, Jesus.

Cala clenched his fingers briefly in the towel covering Billy’s hips, then pulled it free and threw it to the floor. Billy shivered as gooseflesh broke out on his bare skin. Cala ghosted his hand over Billy’s buttocks in a lover’s caress.

“You are a handsome boy,” Cala breathed in his ear. He was leaning close behind now; Billy could feel the fine linen of Cala’s shirt brush against the raw flesh of his back. “Am I the only one who thinks so?” His breath was warm against Billy’s neck. It was a familiar sensation, and he fought an instinctive shudder that was equal parts pleasure and fear. Cala’s hold tightened on his neck and he laughed softly. “You are no stranger to this, no?”

Billy tried to breathe. In … out … hold … in … out …

Cala pressed down hard on a deep cut on his shoulder, and Billy cried out involuntarily. “Answer the question,” Cala ordered. “You have experience with men? Yes or no.”

It was a moment before the pain receded enough for him to speak. “Yes,” he spat, and tried very hard not to picture Joey’s face. Cala grunted approval and moved his hand back to Billy’s neck, beginning a slow caress around his collarbones and back again.

“Good,” Cala said after a moment. “Virgins bore me.”

Billy had no time to think. Cala leaned away; he felt a rush of air on his buttocks and then a warm hand sliding across them and around his hip, heading directly for his cock. _What the fuck-—_ floated through his mind, and then pleasure, mindless and intense, the more so for being unexpected. He was unable to stop the groan that escaped his lips as his body reacted. Cala laughed again and began to stroke his cock with long, smooth, practiced movements.

“You like this?” he asked conversationally, leaning over Billy’s back again to nuzzle behind his ear. “How much have you corrupted yourself, William Tepper? Do you like to fuck other boys? Perhaps be fucked by them … do you suck their cocks with that pretty mouth of yours?”

Billy bit his lips and tasted blood. He could feel tears running down his cheeks. It was impossible to fight the building pleasure inside him; Cala’s hand moved surely on his cock while his voice filled Billy’s mind with images of Joey and other guys, guys he’d checked out, guys he’d jerked off while picturing on their backs, writhing on a sweaty bed while he used his mouth for a better purpose than smart-assing the dean. He couldn’t stop his breathing from speeding up or the blood from pounding in his veins as Cala quickened his strokes, pushing him toward orgasm.

“Tell me, _gringo_ ,” said Cala harshly, biting the lobe of his ear sharply. “Do you suck and fuck the other pretty boys in this pretty little school? Answer me!”

“Yes!” Billy yelled, driven beyond his will to answer, tasting salt from his tears as well as blood. Cala gave a strangled moan and moved his free hand from the back of Billy’s neck. Then a new sensation intruded, and Billy gasped in shock. Cold, hard metal chilled the skin between his buttocks, sliding carefully up and down in a parody of fucking. Billy felt sick even as his hips rolled instinctively against it. Cala never missed a stroke, working the gun’s movements in counterpoint, not quite hard enough to hurt. Three, four, five more strokes, and Billy gritted his teeth and jerked helplessly as he reached orgasm, slumping down over the desk and panting for breath. He kept his eyes tightly closed. He didn’t want to see anything.

Rustling movements told him Cala was retrieving the towel from the floor. A moment later he felt its nubby texture against his sensitive skin as Cala cleaned away his semen. He didn’t move; the feel of the gun was etched into his memory. He didn’t want to get to know it any better than he already did.

* * *

  
Derek mumbled in his sleep and kicked at some imagined bed hog. Across the room, Billy jerked in reaction and felt every muscle in his body tense instinctively against attack. His pulse whooshed heavily in his ears; sweat broke out on his face, his pits, the small of his back, and the salt of it stung the cuts there. Billy pressed back hard against the wall and tried not to taste the sweat on his lips. The smell of it was enough to make him sick.

* * *

  
Cala gave him plenty of time to recover. Too much time. Billy pretended he was dead for as long as he possibly could, but that was a game for kids and he wasn’t a kid anymore. So when Cala grabbed a fistful of his hair and raised him up off the desk, Billy opened his eyes.

Cala still held the towel in his other hand. He dropped it back to the floor and framed Billy’s face with ironically gentle fingers. Billy stared over his shoulder at the door and thought about escape. It wasn’t even a remote possibility – there was the gun on the desk and the guard in the hall – but he felt less helpless by imagining what he’d do if by chance Cala got distracted.

He blinked and glanced at Cala’s face. The terrorist was fixated, staring at him with fierce concentration. Billy opened his mouth to say something – he had no idea what – and Cala moved then, and said, “Ah.”

Just that, nothing more. Then he slid his hands down to Billy’s shoulders and pushed.

Billy didn’t think about Joey, or the fact that the towel on the floor was wet with his semen, or that he’d always loved sucking cock. He thought about the gun and the guard and slid to his knees.

Cala was silent for the next few minutes. He stiffened a little just toward the end of it, but his hands never loosened their grip on Billy’s shoulders. Billy understood then; this was the rest of the lesson. Fear something once and it never goes away.

“Go,” said Cala, and Billy went.

* * *

  
Joey found him in the dorm and helped him get dressed, though he didn’t try to touch him. Billy didn’t speak. He just looked at Joey and went to brush his teeth, and then they walked back outside to the quad.

Five minutes later Billy wondered if Cala had sensed something about him and Joey. If he had, he was smarter than all the students and faculty combined, because they’d been fucking for six months now and nobody else suspected. But he didn’t say anything when Joey looked at him for confirmation, just nodded that it was okay. He watched Joey walk back inside with the principal, obedient to Cala’s orders, and felt scabs beginning to form on his back. Joey’s dark hair shone in the midday sun.

Five minutes after that Joey was a lifeless lump of flesh lying on the front steps in a rapidly spreading pool of blood. Billy saw Cala step over the body like it was an abandoned newspaper. He was careful not to get the blood on his shoes.

* * *

  
The wall was chilly against his back. Joey’s sketchbook lay on the floor, open to the page showing Cala’s face. Billy stared at it until his eyes burned; then he closed them and turned his face into the corner.

When he looked around at the faces of his friends several minutes later he wanted to laugh. They were asking him to save them. They wanted him to give them a plan. He had never felt less capable in his life. He had nothing to give. But they were still there, looking at him like he was the Second Coming, and Joey was whispering the same thing in his mind. There wasn’t really anything left to lose anymore, was there?

He could cause the fucker some pain, at least. Get a little of his own back. Cala wasn’t the only one who knew how to mindfuck. Billy sat down, took a breath, and began to speak.


End file.
